


The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Seven

by itstonedme



Series: The Eyes of Blenheim [7]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, Edwardian Period, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlijah meets <i>Downton Abbey</i>.  The year is 1905.  Orlando is the 9th Duke of Marlborough, married to the beautiful Olivia, with two children.  Elijah is his personal valet, a minister's son.  There is lust.   Enormous thanks to Stormatdusk for creating the banner for this series, over <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/95039.html">here</a>, where this chapter was originally posted in February 2014.  </p><p>Disclaimer: Fiction.  No disrespect intended to any actual persons.</p><p>Feedback: Always appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Seven

**Chapter 7**

They arrive at Blenheim by mid-afternoon, Orlando and Elijah having enjoyed an hour of leisurely riding in Hyde Park, where Elijah, although unschooled, has impressed Orlando with his equestrian instinct and assurance on a horse. Noble and one of the household footmen are there to greet them as the car rolls up to the steps of the north portico. Orlando greets his butler pleasantly and turns, handing his hat to Elijah with the briefest of acknowledgments, a quick meeting of eyes. Then he is off to seek out his wife, Noble at his side, who is informing the duke that Her Grace has invited guests from the nearby town for dinner, a land agent and his business partner. 

Elijah directs the footman to leave his personal luggage in the great hall, for it is understood that footmen don't tote for valets, no matter whom the valet may serve. Elijah follows the footman to the duke's quarters, where he promptly unpacks and sorts His Grace's clothing and personal items, removing items for laundry which include one pair of fouled undergarments, not unlike a pair in Elijah's own luggage. These items he will launder himself and afterwards press before returning them to His Grace's wardrobe. One can't be too careful with spying eyes.

*

It starts that evening.

Noble steps from the kitchen into the hallway leading to the service entrance. "That will be enough," he proclaims to Wenham, the first footman. 

Wenham nods sharply, his eyes flashing quickly to Miss Otto as he takes his leave. He is always able to impart the right amount of deference to his superiors, which in this case Noble is, while retaining the air of an inside trader to all equals and subordinates who may witness such rebukes. Otto is no different. Such roles are well-practiced. She turns to depart but Noble stops her. 

"Such gossip should be beneath you," Noble tells her. "You would do well to nip that one in the bud. Innuendo about His Grace's family will not be tolerated." 

The subject of this exchange, one that all three of them are now party to, is the duke. The object is his aunt. The predicate connecting the two is the juicy bit, a disjointed fragment of conversation overheard by Boyd the previous night when he drove the duke and his aunt to her London address. It has something to do with "secrets" and "self-deception" and "ruin", and the fact that – and this is where chattering voices drop a tone as the tale is retold – Her Ladyship the aunt might be attracted to members of her own sex. Wood's name too popped up. Perhaps he knows something he might be willing to share? After all, he met the aunt for tea; maybe something was implied. Of course, mining Wood for any nuggets could be a fool's errand, given his tight lip, but one never knows. Possibly there's something one might use for a little leverage? Etcetera, etcetera.

Otto nods her agreement to remain silent on the matter and makes her escape, suitably chastened. Of course, nothing of the sort will result. We are, after all, discussing matters of a sexual nature. That a woman of a certain age would care to bare her rather mature bosom to like-minded nobility is titillating enough. That she would actually share this information with her nephew is something else altogether and certainly worthy of banking for safe-keeping. Skeletons in closets, indeed! 

Noble next seeks out Boyd, a long walk in the twilight across the Great Court and its terraces that take him to the old kitchen court, now the garage. Boyd is suitably grimed in grease and polish, working on one of the motor carriages, an ivory-coloured two-seater Royce car, the duke's personal favourite. Noble launches right into what he has come to say. 

"I understand that you shared private information about the duke and his aunt that has made it to the household staff in record time," Noble declaims.

Boyd straightens and wipes his hands. "Has it?" he replies cheekily. 

Noble is of a time and bearing that makes him despair the quality of the current century's hired help, Mrs. Blanchett the exception and perhaps that new valet, Wood, although it may be too soon to tell. The younger lot have little pride and no compunction when it comes to matters of service, loyalty and decorum. They trade in rumours as if it were a more valuable currency than that with which they are paid.

"While you are in service to His Grace, your discretion and faithfulness regarding personal affairs that come to your attention remain inside your head and under your tongue," Noble asserts. "That is what you are being paid for. If we were to share the secrets of your life with all and sundry, I expect you would find it annoying and uncomfortable. The rich are no different."

Boyd smiles, slapping his hand rag across his shoulder. "Aye, captain," he smirks. He could care less who knows what he's been up to. In fact, he's usually his own best advertiser.

"Chauffeurs are, to borrow from her Grace, a dime a dozen these days, Boyd. Remember that." 

*

Orlando and Elijah resume their normal routines during the days that follow, Elijah waking him and seeing to his bath, Orlando changing and immersing himself in work projects. The differences are subtle, but they are there. A meeting of eyes as a suit collar is brushed, a raised brow and small smile in return. Baths are respected for what they have always been, although on the morning after their return, Orlando manages to palm himself while Elijah takes the bath brush to him chest and shoulders, but he desists when it becomes too fraught. 

"Now that we are back, how do you feel?" Orlando asks him as he towels off. "Good Lord, how I want you," he adds, dropping the towel to pull Elijah close.

Elijah's hands grip the wet strands of Orlando's towel-dried hair before descending to his chest in an effort to push him away. They both know that Blenheim is off limits as concerns acting upon sexual impulses. "As if I am walking on ice and that I may slip when I least expect to. It is difficult, seeing you but being unable to say anything. I want to touch you beneath your clothing, feel you against me."

"I think we need to return to London sooner than not," Orlando replies, reluctantly releasing him and taking the towel once more to his hair.

"There is one thing," Elijah adds, stopping at the bathroom door and looking back without expression. "My hand is becoming rather familiar to me." As the wet towel is snapped, he arches away from it with a saucy grin.

*

Fast on the heels of the London banking trip comes a letter from Aunt Philippa, addressed to Her Grace. 

"Philippa would like to come up for the weekend," Olivia tells Orlando when they meet for afternoon tea on the Thursday. "Have you other plans?"

"I just saw her," Orlando replies pleasantly enough, but he knows his aunt's game. She's coming to see for herself the exact state of affairs within the household.

"She writes that it is primarily to see me and the children. We can put it off if you have something else on the go."

Three days have done little to melt the chill in Olivia's voice, and Orlando knows that he needs to set this affair in order in advance of his aunt's visit. "Absolutely not. We haven't had guests for far too long. What can I do to help?"

Later that evening, Elijah comes to Orlando's room to collect his discarded clothes and the two of them share desperate and heated kisses in the duke's bathroom.

"And at the end of today, what are your thoughts?" Orlando breathes in Elijah's ear much as he has each night since their return, for he now cannot abide not sharing every moment of Elijah's life.

"That I am doomed, but that there is nothing I would want to stop it," Elijah says, tipping his head as Orlando kisses beneath his jaw. "There is talk, however," Elijah tells him. "Not of you, but of your aunt and her coming visit, sexual and malicious in nature. I cannot attribute it to a source, but it is there."

Orlando pulls back. "What is being said?" When Elijah tells him, he is quiet, piecing the evidence and the implications. "There are things I must do," he finally says. "You may find them hurtful, but I do them for us. I need you to understand that."

When Elijah has left, Orlando bathes quietly on his own, shaving closely before scenting himself. He slips down the passage that connects to Olivia's room, and there he spends the night so that they might talk and restore some civility and tenderness towards one another.

And in the morning, he is there when Otto comes to attend to Her Grace, clever and charming in his discourse with her, strategic in knowing that Otto will do her part. 

Of course, he is not to be found when Elijah arrives in the duke's suite with the melon tea service. Elijah stares at the untouched bed after he opens the draperies, and although his heart sinks, it only sinks a little, for he is the valet as well as the lover, and he knows that the affairs of the estate must always trump the affairs of the heart. He collects the tray of cups and pots and repairs to the hallway.

"I'll take that," Otto says smugly, by all appearances having just that moment come from Her Grace's sitting room when in fact, Elijah presumes she has staked her presence. "Their Graces will take tea this morning in Her Grace's room. Breakfast as well. Would you mind much letting the kitchen know to send it? They plan to enjoy it in bed after they finish their bath."

Elijah nods as he hands her the tray, his expression one of even formality even as images of a London morning frolic in the bath come fondly to mind. From what he can glean, Otto finds this whole circumstance a Major Event, one requiring her special pronouncement and attention. "I've laid out His Grace's clothes," he says. "I'll be in staff quarters if he requires anything further of me." 

As he takes the stairs down from the gallery, he cannot help but reluctantly admire Orlando's prudent attention to the details of public and private relations. 

*

Later that morning, Orlando dispatches his new driver, a cheerful chap by the name of Monaghan who has only arrived the night before, to London to retrieve his aunt for her visit to Blenheim. 

"Do you think this shall be the last we see of the Albion?" the duke asks Noble as they watch Monaghan motor off down the long laneway. "Does he even know where he's going?"

"He's smart enough, by all accounts," Noble replies. "I think you'll come to like him. Ambitious but not opportunistic. And he's discreet. Better than the last one."

"Thank you for dealing with Boyd before I even knew he needed to be dealt with," Orlando says, eyes still on the lane. "There were things you weren't telling me."

"There were things that Your Grace need not to have concerned himself with," Noble replies. "The other one was, pardon my vulgarity, a first-rate shit stirrer. It is my job to weed those ones out, Your Grace, not yours. When one gets the boot, the rest tend to wilt, at least for a while. Such is the pernicious nature of gossip."

"I leave it to your discretion, then. But should you sense something travelling beyond the palace walls, you will tell me."

"Certainly, Your Grace," Noble nods. 

"And this Monaghan. His references are sterling?"

"They are," Noble replies. "He will have a vested interest in keeping his nose clean and in passing along anything untoward among the staff. He knows I would dissect him personally otherwise. He is my cousin's boy."

*

Once Philippa arrives, she makes short shrift of ungluing Orlando from his wife's hip so that she and Olivia might enjoy a tête à tête in the new garden. She sees Orlando's gambit for what it is, which he knows that she knows, and which both know that she will keep silent of. She and Liv stroll with arms linked, admiring the statuary and new hedges establishing themselves beneath the midsummer sun. 

"Be candid," Philippa tells her. "You've now been married close to seven years, with two children and this monolith of a building to divert your attention. I remember the strain of that period in my own marriage, the sense that time was passing and I was no longer the eager innocent creature who had first caught my husband's eye. How are things with Orlando?"

Olivia looks at her with a smile, patting the hand on her arm. "Why Philippa, don't be reticent on my account." 

Philippa laughs. "And don't think for an instant that when I saw him earlier this week he had a thing to say to make me think otherwise. This is just between us girls. With your mother and sisters an ocean away, I feel obliged to ensure that should that self-absorbed sweet nephew of mine be remiss in his husbandly duties and be causing you any distress, I would want you to know that you have my full support and sympathy."

"I fear that my husband is not a modern man," Olivia says, tipping her head towards her aunt. "He appears to hold on to attitudes that a man's time is best spent in the company of other men, drinking gin and plotting how to rebuild the world, starting brick by brick with Blenheim."

"So he is ignoring you," Philippa states.

"Of late, yes, and it has contributed to words between us. Although this week, he seems to be making a better effort."

Philippa has no doubt as to why. She bides her tongue, appearing to consider whether what she has next to say should indeed be said and then appearing to conclude it should. "There was a time when Edgar and I seemed to have come to a stalemate. No matter my hopes for the situation improving, nothing I did seemed to interest him in my well-being. I even tried to make him jealous by paying attention to a particular gentleman. It didn't matter in the least – he was either oblivious to my state or uncaring."

"And how did it resolve itself?" Olivia asks, more interested than she is letting on.

"In a glorious affair," Philippa smiles, squeezing Olivia's arm and smiling broadly. "The gentleman to whom I had directed my flirtations wasn't as stupid as Edgar appeared to be, and the diversion was the tonic I needed to restore my self-worth."

Olivia has stopped and turned to her aunt, eyes wide. "That is quite scandalous, Philippa. What was Uncle Edgar's reaction?"

"Edgar's reaction," Philippa says, taking a step so that they might continue walking, "was completely unchanged. Whether he chose not to acknowledge it or he didn't care, I never did determine, but it didn't matter to me. My life needed to move forward with love and respect and passion. My attitude was and still is, that if he didn't want to be a part of what I needed to thrive, I would seize it elsewhere. I never have understood this business about fidelity being the end-all when things aren't working. Heaven knows that men certainly don't subscribe to it."

"But you and Edgar remained together until he died."

"We did, yes. Although the definition of "together" was more one of legality than domestic habitation. He pursued his interests and I pursued mine. When he died, he was happy, and so was I."

Olivia reacts to the naughtiness of the double entendre with a playfully chastising smile. "I don't think circumstances with Orlando are quite so dire."

"Of course not," Philippa replies, patting Olivia's arm. "I'm just making titillating conversation so that you never have to feel you are alone."

* 

As the weekend resolves itself, Orlando announces that he will accompany Philippa on her return to London so that he might meet with a dredging firm about some matter related to Blenheim's ongoing improvements. He will, of course, be taking his valet who will sit up front and keep Monaghan company.

"If I'm to be abandoned again," Olivia announces pleasantly in the drawing room where the three of them have gathered before dinner, "then I think I shall ask Mortensen to accompany me for an afternoon of riding." She glances at Philippa whose returning smile is completely inscrutable. 

"The weather is certainly in your favour," Orlando replies. "I regret I won't be here to join you."

"Another time," Olivia replies.

To be continued…


End file.
